Allium
by Loganberryx
Summary: Logan. How do you find your way inside such a complex man? from one woman's POV.


**Allium**

**Author: Loganberryx**

Disclaimer: i do not own any rights to any marvel characters. i just enjoy the opportunity to write about them.

Summary: This short was written after a long converstaion about Logan and his character and the fact that there is much more to him than many usually see.

Feedback welcome.

From early spring to summer, the Allium stands tall above the near naked flower beds. Its stout green stem supports the near perfect sphere of lilac and white flowers, each star-bursting out in a quiet display of elegance. But unseen, deep down in the earth sits the power house, the anchor, the centre that gave this orb of perfection life; the common bulb from whence it sprang.

From where I sit, in the cool air of a spring morning; the grass still wet with dew and the earth cold from the night frost, I see him as I see the Allium bulb; layer upon layer of skins. Each one carefully concealing the layer below. If I peel each one back, would I find the soul within; the true heart, the power house that gives this man meaning?

Between my fingers the earth crumbles, soft and rich brown. In my hand sits the bulb; at first glance an innocuous thing, short and squat, simple and unpleasant to the eye. Like him, dark of skin from years in the cold, the surface worn smooth and dulled by endless rubbing against the weight upon it.

But under its dark cloak their lies years of growth, layers of life, of experience and knowledge that I could never comprehend. I scratch at the surface, curious to find what lies beneath. My nail picks at the edge, slowly finding a niche, a crack in the armour; the hardened skin which protects the many facets below. I feel you watching, demanding eyes staring at me, a sullen expression on your face, masking that which you keep hidden. Will you let me in?

I wrinkle my nose, as the strong smell engulfs me. My eyes water and I push it away. The Bulb reveals its first layer. Like it, his rejection is a surprise, an eye watering moment, blinding in its ferocity, pushing me away with all his force to protect himself. The bulb fights to preserve its life, to stop its attacker at any cost, to hide its interior from the world. Most would turn away, throw back this foul entity; no longer interested in its content, preferring to admire its alter-ego, the flower, from afar. But not I, I gather it up in my hand letting the powerful display pass over me, accepting its defensive will. And as I do, I come to understand its need to survive. His need.

It lets my fingers pass; rubbing away this initial encounter. It reveals its second layer. This time the scent does not offend. It is honest in its existence, it can be nothing more than it is. In those dark brown eyes I see the integrity; unwavering and resolute, being everything he is, no more or less. The layer that supports the anger and yet in turn is hidden by it. This is the truth both bulb and he reveal; the need to be looked at without question or judgement, to be accepted at face value for what they are.

The dirt falls away as I run the bulb through my fingers, gently pulling away the layer. At first it is not clear; the object half shrouded by the remaining epidermis. And then, in a moment of sudden clarity, as the skin falls, I see perfection. This layer, for all its undulations is exquisite; pure and clean, yet unaware of its inner beauty. I look at his frame; thick arms, powerful legs, broad torso, the dark hair ruffled by the breeze and the ravages of time clear on his face. His very being, believed by some to be a mistake, a freak of nature, is perfection to behold; crumbled, bashed and unseen perfection. Yet this physical form is only one small aspect of the bulbs inner beauty. For within this layer resides the care with which it grows. Protecting the layers below, those weaker than itself, nurturing and defending. I see the small child sitting in wonder at his knee, listening intently as he describes the world outside the gate. Does she too see the grace and compassion that flows from his body?

And as I let my fingers play on this matchless layer, I find myself delving further, beyond this skin, to reveal the core; the essence of the bulbs being. The unseen, tightly packed, centre of pure white. A brightness of stored energy; born of earth, sun and rain, untouched by the rough hand of mankind. Here in my hand lies the heart. I look at him and see beyond his myriad shrouds to the soul of his existence. The strength of his spirit; steadfast and pure. I see the love that is born there, powering this life; the heart-wrenching, body-shaking passion. A love unerring, once given never taken back. Constantly growing, never giving up in the face of adversity, healing each layer above with an inner warmth.

I see him as I see the Allium bulb; layer upon layer of skins. Each one carefully concealing that which lies below. With time I have peeled each one back, letting him reveal himself to me. I have found the soul within; the true-heart, the meaning of this man. Not just the simple squat object, rejected for its lack of beauty and elegance, but the complex covering of emotions and experiences built up by years of toil and hardship.

The Allium stands tall, its stout green stem supporting the sphere of lilac flowers. But unseen, deep down beneath the earth sits the centre that gave this orb life. You are my anchor, my power house, content to let me shine in full view, whilst you cloak yourself in deep shadows. To the casual observer I am all that is there, but **I** know that deep down there is you, always, giving me the strength to show my true colours.

An inseparable bond that can never be broken.


End file.
